


The Third Life is a Charm

by BatsaboutBats (theboxedfox)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood Outlaw, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Jason Todd may swoon, Jason Todd very much has a boner for Mr.Wayne, Jason Todd wakes up in a world that is like a dream come true for him, M/M, Regency Romance, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboxedfox/pseuds/BatsaboutBats
Summary: Jason has lived two lives, sacrificing both to save people who betrayed him. His third life sends him to a world that is much different than his own where he finds himself faced with a Batman that kindles a long forgotten passion in his broken heart. Jason thinks perhaps the third time will be a charm after all.





	1. Chapter 1

Jason was certain that the universe hated him. It had killed him violently, rejected him from the peaceful rest of death and vomited him back into a life that had moved on from him. His first life had been rough, his second life even worse and now he thought perhaps he was about to experience a third life that was going to be even shittier than the first two combined.

It had started with a knock down drag out fight between a pissed off Penguin and freshly escaped Joker. Never a good combination. When two heavyweight Gotham rogues began a battle things were bound to get messy and it was all hands on deck for any and all vigilantes. Batman had called in everyone even him as a testament to how serious the situation had become.

Jason disliked missions that he had to team up with the bats for, but to add Joker to the mix? He was loathe to admit he was equal parts enraged and terrified. Some small part of him would always be that stupid kid lying in a warehouse with a crowbar on the ground covered in his blood and bits of his scalp. The fact he couldn't avenge himself without bringing Batman's wrath upon him was bad enough. Being forced into a fight with the Joker while his deadly hands were tied and his bullets were made of rubber was downright humiliating.

The jokes, snide remarks, and that downright grating laughter as Joker pretended they were just old buddies was more than he could take. It was enough to make his blood pressure skyrocket, his pulse thunder in his ears, nearly drowning out the soft hum of the stolen machine Penguin was powering up.

The rogues had started the brawl over a piece of tech that they'd taken from LexCorp. Being out of the Oracle information loop, Jason wasn't aware of what it did but he knew it was dangerous considering it's creator.

The unknown tech weapon was now aimed at Bruce. Who for once was unaware of the impending doom because he was pummeling Joker's yellow teeth in for a rather crude remark about the inside of Jason's thighs. Jason stopped breathing, stopped thinking. Instinct took over, and he wouldn't analyze why seeing Bruce vulnerable and about to die made him act. He felt like he wasn't Jason Todd, nor the Red Hood. At his core he was still Robin and he was a soldier, good or bad.

His well shaped thighs moved without his permission, propelling forward like a locomotive on a track to intercept the beam of light shot forth from the machine. The glaring eruption finally caught Bruce's attention, his cowl turning, and it was so bright now that Jason could see the outlines of his eyes behind the protective lenses.

 _Please,_ he prayed. _Let me save him._

He blocked the shot, one hand outstretched towards the beam as though to repel it with his nonexistent superpowers. His other hand all but backhanded Bruce in an effort to knock him out of the path of the blast. Jason couldn't see anything, it was too bright just a whiteout through his hood's cameras. 

There was no pain this time.

Instead when the light faded, he found himself just standing in the middle of a surprisingly lush field with only the wind whispering through the thick canopies of sturdy oak trees dotting the land around him. He skidded to a halt in mid stride, almost stumbling over the uneven clods of earth. Reflexes and his training saved him the embarrassment of falling on his face.

“What the fuck?” He murmured, his eyes widening to the point that the edges of his eyelids felt ready to split open. His helmet was still firmly lodged over his head and he took in the view on his monitor in shock. He hesitated to remove the hood, hands shaking as they gripped the shiny red exterior.

Yes, he really was standing in the middle of a goddamn pasture. It was dusk, and while the horizon looked familiar, he couldn't see any signs of Gotham lights anywhere. He took in a deep breath and didn't choke.

There was no industrial smog to burn his lungs or even the dank odor of Gotham's polluted streets and it's less fortunate inhabitants. No greasy food vendors wafting their delicacies next to dumpsters or the scent of rancid hot dogs anywhere.

The dusk was well into night by the time he moved, trudging forward through the darkness. He left the field and moved deep into a treeline, his helmet's systems guiding him through the terrain. Nearly three hours later, he was still lost, but he had noticed one thing.

His helmet battery hadn't gone down at all. It baffled him, as usually he lost about three percent battery power per hour thanks to all the upgrades he'd made recently. Yet there the power level sat at a whopping 98%. He was tempted to test it further, really push the helmet to the limits by opening any and all applications he could but he resisted. He didn't know where he was or what was going on.

It wasn't worth the risk.

He brought up the navigation system cautiously and found himself stupefied to find out he was located just east of Wayne Manor. True, they hadn't fought the rogues that far from the upper-end of town, but he saw no sign of civilization here just wilderness as far as he could see. Trusting his tech and not his judgment, he headed eastward.

 

He began to recognize the landscape once he got out of the woods. The hills were lush around him but the road looked familiar. It wasn't paved, merely dirt and pebbled stones, heading down a slope and back up again to lead directly to--

Wayne Manor sat at the end of the road, an imposing structure that made him go stock still inside once he caught sight of it. Everything was the same, stalwart stone arches and huge classical windows. Even the front door was the same, a dark gaping mouth of a thing that would swallow you whole into the belly of the impressive architectural beast.

It was so dark inside and out of the manor that Jason was afraid it was empty, abandoned. Carefully he skulked through the garden, slowly making his way towards the entrance. The first thing he noticed was that there were several new buildings around the manor that hadn't been there before. He squinted despite the night vision on his helmet and tried to make sense of what they were doing there. One structure was made of glass and iron, with lush foliage tucked within, possibly a greenhouse. The other building was just as massive, located off to the right side of the manor. It was more traditional in it's design, matching the manor with less of the lavish touches.

He hunkered down lower in the hedges when he heard the first sound besides the buzzing of insects and soft cries of forest animals humping in the undergrowth. Whatever it was it was steadily approaching the road, a strange whirring hiss and the faintest of scrape of metal. The cameras in Jason's helmet suddenly switched modes as lights began to flicker to life along the road. The lights veered off the main path and turned sharply right then straight down, into what looked like the entrance to a bunker. He hadn't even heard the secret entrance pop up, despite being so close by.

A light appeared, brighter than the torches on the road, shining steadily closer. Jason felt his jaw hang as a bronze and black motorcycle swept past his hiding place, a drifting haze of steam following it's wake. The vehicle wasn't what stunned him however, it was the rider.

Even now despite everything, Jason was still the boy in crime alley, staring at Batman as he rode past in his batmobile and waiting for the perfect opportunity to boost the damn tires. Ever a kid who used bravado and smart remarks to hide the awe that the Bat's presence instilled in his bones.

As the dark knight disappeared into the hidden entrance the lights along the road flickered out in sync, each snuffed by the time the secret door slammed closed. Jason waited for some time afterwards his body tense with anticipation.

He watched as soft light began to glow from Bruce's office, and then it trailed through the manor windows in a pattern he knew like the beat of his own heart. Through the clock, down to the kitchens, then to the staircase and upwards, down through the hall and into the master suite. It was ritual rarely broken save for the really bad nights when things went wrong one way or another.

This was the routine during a good night and patrol was simple. There were refreshments straight from Alfred's weathered hands and gentle strokes over his scalp to denote a job well done. A tired, but sincere smile that Jason had wanted to kiss desperately until it became something with teeth and need.

He bit his tongue at the intrusive image, slamming a lid on that can of worms quickly. _Focus, Jason_.

After the light went out, he waited even longer before standing and stretching his aching legs. 

“Let's see what's down the rabbit hole.” He murmured, making his way to the entrance of what he assumed was the bat cave. Where was he? Who knew. But he did know one thing.

He hated walking and would need a ride to get around this strange new place. Luckily he knew someone who had one ripe for the picking.

Grinning, Jason popped up the secret door just enough to slide himself inside then headed deep into the darkness.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jason barely recognized the place to the batcave he remembered, the passageway unspoiled by excavation and construction. Some familiar ledges he'd climbed as a boy were peeking out at the top of the cavern trail, places he used when trying to avoid people. He usually lost against Bruce when he wanted him to do something he hated like taking inoculations against Ivy or Scarecrow's toxins. There were far more bats here as well, his boots squishing their guano between the treads. He scowled, avoiding the bigger piles as best he could.

He came to a waterfall further down the passage which seemed to be feeding into some sort of machine, powering it. Puzzled, he examined it wondering if it had something to do with the lights on the road or the trap door. Unable to discern it's use he gave up and moved forward once again. It wasn't long before he came to the batcave proper, a yawning stretch of space that housed not only the coveted motorcycle but several cars and what looked to be carriages. They fascinated him. Some were wooden while others were made of metals he couldn't identify as either steel or bronze. Running his fingers over the finely hammered inlay on a large wheel, he found they weren't exactly dust free. They had no hitch for horses and from what he could tell they were no longer in use. Were they outdated models of the cars?

He silently wandered the makeshift garage, holding his breath when he looked upwards and found an honest to God blimp floating there among the stalactites. Chains as thick as his thighs held the flying machine immobile, their links creaking ominously.

_What the actual fuck._ Eyeing it warily, he ducked a nearby length of chain and moved further into the cave. Tempting as it was to steal that behemoth he wasn't sure how fast it would be. Much less how it could be conspicuous. There were a few smaller airplanes in the deeper recesses of the cave, but each were either in a state of repair or still being built. He avoided those as well, on practicality. 

Past the last row of transports, he made his way into the workshop space of the Batcave. The computer was nowhere in sight but various tables and stations took it's place, littered with books and beakers. A projector stood not too far away from a broad expanse of wall, a canvas hung as a makeshift screen. He turned full circle in the strange cave his mind spinning.

_Maybe it's not where I am, but_ _**when** _ .

He froze when he noticed there was another door in the cave along with the familiar one at the top of a staircase that led to the manor proper. Curiosity got the better of him and he made his way over in a silent fox walk. He was surprised to find the door unlocked and took a breath as he took hold of the sturdy brass handle. With a faint creak of a hinge the door swung open and revealed the contents behind it.

A library.

A massive, _glorious_ library that looked like it had fallen out of a fairy tale book itself. Rows upon rows of bookshelves greeted him, various ladders placed strategically to aid retrieval of the tomes. Jason counted at least 3 levels to the library and possibly a fourth but he dared not enter the room for fear of setting off an alarm.

Many things had surprised him tonight but nothing so much as this had. For a moment he remembered the library next to Bruce's study, the smell of old paper and the crackle of leather spines as he opened a new volume of storytelling that probably hadn't been opened in decades. He'd loved it in there, the one place he actually felt at home in the manor.

He tried not to think about how much he missed it.

Stepping out of the cavernous room and closing the door was easy. Shutting up the tumultuous emotions he was struggling with was another story. He plunked his helmet encased forehead against the door lightly. Stupid. He was being _fucking stupid_.

He needed to stop being so wistful about long lost possibilities. He'd ruined every chance he had the day he woke in his casket and crawled out of it. Possibly even the moment he first stepped into the Joker's clutches. Hell, just being born had probably ruined his life.

_Back to business, Todd._

He needed wheels. The temptation to take the sex on wheels motorbike the Bat had ridden in on was strong. It would have sent a message, but also bring heat down on him instantly. The machine was too impractical and would draw far too much attention to himself in daylight. Another time he would come back and take it, he decided.

Now he just had to find a bike that wasn't emblazoned with bats or too noticeable. He shifted through the veritable graveyard of mobiles, and eventually found what looked to be a stripped but functional model in a far corner of the cave. He was shocked to find it ran off a mixture of what seemed to be water and cooking oil. How that was possible he didn't know. The tips of his fingers itched to disassemble the body just to see what made her tick.

Choice made, he tucked a few small bottles of mixed fuel he found into a compartment at the back of the bike and walked it back down the long passageway. Once he got to the entrance he found a lever that lifted the hatch, revealing the night sky and lawn of the manor. Kicking his leg over the seat, he sat astride his prize and started it up. It came to life after a few moments, it's faint growl sending a few of the bats flying from their perches in confusion.

The fuel system was quieter than he was use to, but the body thrummed like a busy bee, vibrating the inside of his thighs. With a pleased groan he patted the bike's side as though it were alive.

“Good girl.” He praised, before throttling forward out of the cave and away from the manor.

 

 

Jason was pissed. The motorcycle had been a great boon for the first leg of his journey. Once he'd entered Gotham's proper city limits, he'd had to abandon her in a safe spot and he was sore about it. No one had anything like a motorcycle or car, they either walked or rode carriages. His original theory had been proven correct, this place was definitely not modern by any stretch of the imagination.

Luckily he realized the dilemma before daybreak and while he hated stealing from people who didn't deserve it he broke into a small tailor shop and grabbed a red overcoat that was large enough to cover him to the knees. He paused at the shop keep's counter guiltily, before he plucked one of the hand printed cards off a little stand. Pocketing it he would return later to pay them back, hoping in the meantime it didn't set them back to much. In the streets he'd seen many people wearing red coats and this one's fabric didn't seem too fine a quality to be missed.

He desperately wanted to take to the rooftops but he barely managed to get out of the shop before people were coming out of the woodwork and bustling down the dark streets. Shops and markets were already beginning to show signs of readying to open for the morning, and he could smell fresh bread being baked in some of the little bakeries he passed.

Gotham was still Gotham, even if it was set back in some sort of time warp back to what he could only assume was a fresh Regency period. The buildings were tall and foreboding with their spires and some gargoyles he could spot were definitely old enough to be medieval. Those only perched on ancient buildings that weren't very pretty to look at but were a testament to their sturdiness in that they seemed to match their gnarled stone guards.

There was a little more pollution here, but the haze was mostly just morning fog rolling in from the sea that he could smell nearby. Stretching his legs he observed the strange city and it's inhabitants for several hours before his energy began to lag.

Curling up on a park bench near a small pond, Jason could feel himself starting doze off despite his best efforts to keep going. The adrenaline rush had worn off long before he'd left the strange batcave, but his training had allowed him to push on. The last bit of shut eye he'd caught was nearly three days prior, before he'd been wrapped up in his own drug trafficking case and then the fateful brawl that had gotten him sent here in the first place.

Yawning, he stretched his back till the kinks popped loudly and then he relaxed against the back of the bench more fully. It couldn't hurt to just catch a nap, he rationalized, closing his eyes.

 

 

“NO!” He was too late.

Horrified, Batman watched as Jason was caught in the blast, a flash of white blotting out everything around them all like a bolt of lightning. Faintly he could hear Penguin's anguished scream as he was brought down by Robin. When the light faded and his vision returned, he watched dumbfounded as a crystal orb clinked to the ground where Jason had stood, bouncing several times before rolling down the pavement into a gutter.

For once, Bruce abandoned the Joker and chose his son. Penguin neutralized and already being ziptied up by his allies, Batman launched towards the orb and snatched it up safely before it could roll down into the sewer and be lost.

Joker's cackle wheezed short as he was solidly knocked out by Blackbat and restrained with strait jacket and chains before he could get a chance to come back around. She was silent as she came up beside him, her shadowy hand touching his broad shoulder gently. Bruce did not shrug her off, instead he sagged beneath the connection and clutched the strange artifact carefully. It was undamaged from it's fall, and heavy as lead in his grip. It was mostly clear but in the center of the orb a strange phenomenon of what looked like a small spiraling galaxy sparkled.

“Batman, we've got them secure and police are ready to take them in.” Nightwing landed in front of Bruce, the whites of his mask narrowing when he spotted what he was holding. “What happened?? Is he...?”

Bruce surged to his feet, turning sharply towards Penguin's direction where the police were already throwing him into the paddywagon. The weapon was a gun shaped device, about the size of a shot gun but it looked alien in origin. He didn't even need to ask her, Blackbat was already gathering the weapon up and carrying it straight to the batmobile to take back to the cave for analysis.

Nightwing was quick on the uptake as well, grim determination set in the line of his mouth.

“What can I do, B?” He asked quietly.

“I--” Bruce stopped, not recognizing his own voice. Mechanically he moved forward to climb into the batmobile, the roof hissing as it sealed him inside. It wasn't until later when he and Black Bat arrived back at the cave and the evidence had been prepped for analysis that he realized he was crying. The cowl was waterproof, but his face was wet with more than his own sweat when he yanked it off. He had barely wiped his face dry on a hand towel before Cassandra returned from her trek upstairs to grab a stand from beneath one of the ming vases Alfred kept in the halls of the manor. She offered the wooden stand to him, which he carefully rest the crystal ball atop of, leaving it on the workbench for observation.

Nightwing and Robin had finally caught up to them and parked their bikes in the cave by the time Bruce sat heavily in his chair, staring at the orb that had somehow ended up where Jason had been.

“Father, where is Todd?” Damian was always quick to get to the heart of any matter. That and he had his mother's gift of bluntness.

“He... He stepped in the line of fire. This was in his place when the flash from the blast receded.” Bruce replied, gesturing to the artifact. “I need to find out exactly what Penguin and Joker were fighting over and run tests--”

“Bruce.” Dick stopped him, coming closer but not touching him or the orb. “You need to rest. Tim and I can start working on this. He's already on his way to Metropolis now with Kon to get intel from Lexcorp.”

“I can't lose him again.” Bruce whispered. “I can't.”

"We aren't. We'll figure this out." Dick assured him but as he looked at the strange ball he was clearly worried.

The stars within the orb just glittered back coldly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update, but I had a severe case of the braindeads when it came to this story. Thanks to Beth for her encouragement that finally kicked my butt into gear to finish the next chapter. I still feel it was a little awkward in places and maybe a little cumbersome but I promise, Jason and Mr.Wayne will meet up in the next chapter. :3c He's gotta get spanked for stealing, afterall.
> 
> Also, Bruce has some feelings. Who knew! XD


	3. Chapter 3

Jason started awake from his nap when he felt something tug at his pant leg. He nearly ripped his gun from the holster on his thigh in his panic, only catching himself when the long overcoat tangled in his fist instead. The insistent tug at his ankle continued, followed by a soft _quack_.

“Huh?” He looked down where a fat and friendly white duck was worrying the hem of his cargo pants. It's sunny yellow beak opened in a loud call, then shook it's tail in an excited wiggle when it noticed him fumbling around his coat pocket area. He realized it probably thought he was there to feed it and he felt terrible that he didn't have so much as a scrap to offer. His own stomach rumbled so loudly it nearly drowned out the little creature's quacking.

“Sorry bud, I'm fresh outta crumbs.” He muttered, surprised when the duck allowed him to pet it's round little head. It nibbled at his fingertips and once it realized he had nothing it hurried off to join the wild mallards in the pond. There was a mix of wild and tame fowl in the small watering hole, along with cheeky little squirrels and chipmunks frolicking about the grassy knolls. The park hadn't been very busy when he first sat down but now there were several people having picnics nearby. His own stomach gnawed on itself, more ravenous with each passing minute.

Hauling up from the bench he contemplated his situation. If he were completely honest with himself this was far from the strangest thing to happen to him in his lifetime. It was reminiscent of something that had happened to him once upon a time when Donna had been alive and Kyle hadn't completely hated him. There was no looming crisis this time around and he was entirely alone in his journey to get home. If he wanted to go back at all, that is.

As the clouds above rolled over the pale blue sky pillowing against the towers of the cityscape he wasn't so sure he did. Something about this place soothed him, even if he couldn't exactly say what it was. He wandered away from the greenery and back into the cobblestone streets and brick behemoths while he puzzled his next move.

This Gotham didn't have the familiar bodegas or food trucks tucked in shady corners of the side streets. What it did have were bakeries and mouth watering cafes that were so small they barely squeeze four people inside but still had lines forming down the street. He had no money here and the currency was obviously different than he was use to. The first thing he noticed was a distinct lack of paper money and an abundance of coins that customers were passing out to merchants.

Watching the people banter as they went about their lives, Jason felt a twinge deep in his chest. People were speaking roughly but there wasn't malice within their conversations. This Gotham was kinder, younger. It didn't bear the deep scars his home did and he knew he wasn't in the rich end of town just by looking at the people's state of dress. Several of the street names he passed were those he grew up on too.

He headed towards a tavern tucked away on a side street and decided he would at least have a look inside. For shits and giggles, if nothing else. He figured he could offer to work for his supper-- at worst, he could pickpocket some drunkard for some coinage. Hefting the old sack he'd found to stash his helmet in, he shouldered his way into the establishment with a small crowd of men who looked to be rough day laborers. They smelled like a barn and his keen eye could see some of them had more than just mud on their battered boots.

The air of the city was fresher from the unpolluted breezes off the ocean. He had not been in close proximity with many people since his arrival, but here in this dimly lit enclosed space the smell hit him full force. Unwashed bodies on top of piss and something fermented, with a hint of the hops from the hand crafted beer at the taps of the pub's bar.

The windows were poorly measured and small, barely casting enough sunlight throughout the deep tavern, only oil lamps and candles making up the difference. Barely.

He was use to working in darkness and maneuvering unnoticed in such a busy place would have been easy had he not been the biggest sonovabitch in the room. He did not expect that but he supposed he should have. His life had been a harsh one and he'd spent it honing himself like an edge of the finest of blades. These people had a different kind of harsh life he was all too familiar with as well. They were too busy trying to keep a roof over their head and a bit of food in their bellies to train like crazy idiots in capes and utility belts.

The bawdy bantering lulled for several long moments as he shuffled between the long tables. Ducking a low hanging oil lamp he found a seat at a smaller, round table near a window. He set his bag down beside his chair carefully, and did not remove his coat like other patrons had. The conversations resumed, though the closest patrons to his seat never did reach their previous volumes. A young serving girl was the only one brave enough to approach him, her hands clasping the front of her apron. He almost felt ashamed at the quaking of her hands while her large dark eyes fixed him with an almost fearful look.

Jason slumped down in his seat, no longer drawing himself to his full height and forced his brows to relax. The girl no longer looked like she might flee from him, her expression morphing into one of curiosity.

_Good, she's not terrified of me at least._ He thought affectionately, since he had a soft spot for kids, little girls in particular.

“M-May I inquire your order sir?” She asked him quietly, before looking at the floor. He shoved his feet into the shadows under the table when he noticed her inspecting his tactical boots a little too closely.

“About that.” He tapped the table to attract her attention back to his face. “I lost my wal—uh, coinpurse.” He explained. “I was hoping I could maybe work in exchange for a meal.”

“Oh...” The girl's demeanor changed, a softness touching her eyes. She was a good kid, he could tell, and maybe he wouldn't have to roll up his sleeves for a crust of bread. “I could ask--”

“GIRL!” A loud booming voice shouted from behind her, as a stout and behemoth of a man hollered at her. His meaty hand all but snatched the child from her feet to shoved her into a table opposite of Jason's. She yelped like a kicked dog, falling to her hands and knees. The man was shorter than Jason but wider in girth by a mile. He was hairy as a goat, and smelled close enough to be a cousin of one.

“I told you to bring us another round not _seduce_ some man, you ungrateful little wench!” He bore down on the girl cruelly, grabbing her bonnet in his ham fisted grip.

“Sorry Sir, right away S-Sir..” She stammered, her hands making an aborted motion to try and make him release her. He shoved her into the ground when he released her and once she was clear Jason struck.

The man went from standing to having his head nearly put through the rickety table. The arm that had swung at the girl was pulled behind his fat back at the most painful of angles where he was one twitch from dislocation. Jason ignored the stench of the man passing gas at the sudden pressure of the table's edge in his flabby gut, and leaned close to speak to him.

“Unlike you, I am a gentleman and would _never_ strike a lady. But I'm not so well bred that I wouldn't cut your offending hand clear off.” He made the assassin blade's presence well known, digging it into the meat of the man's wrist deep enough to draw blood. The odious bastard screamed like a dying pig, broken off into a whimper when Jason pressed harder at the abused joint of his shoulder. Red gushed down his arm in thick rivulets, soaking the man's dingy sleeve quickly. “Now apologize, _sincerely_ , or I'll have to teach you some manners.”

“W-What do you want???” The man squirmed, frightened for once in his miserable life. “Y-Y-You should know I'm under the employment of the esteemed Mr.Cobblepot, and he'll hear of-- **ARRRGH**!”

“ _Wrong answer._ ” Jason sliced through muscle and bone without a single moment's hesitation, lips pulled back into a snarling grin. The limp, lifeless hand fell onto the bar floor with a hefty thump. The event marked a sordid sort of signal and all hell broke loose. Fatman screamed like a castrated bull, and his friends saw fit _now_ to come and help him.

Jason threw him bodily into the three other dregs, knocking them all down like bowling pins. The cacophony of shouts grew when he vaulted over another wave of angry patrons, his fists making quick work of them. It took him roughly ten minutes but soon half the bar was full of beaten and unconscious ruffians. The other half were just regular people, who didn't seem too torn up over the state of affairs as they kept to the edges of the tavern to avoid the bloodshed and violence.

Jason huffed, arms swinging to a stop at his sides abruptly when the last man hit the floor (taking a detour into a chair first, losing a tooth or three.). At the bar, a matronly woman with stout shoulders hollered into the back kitchens for someone to bring a broom. It took him a second to recognize that she wasn't angry, maybe frustrated to have a mess to clean up, but she was definitely happy to see the men stomped into the floor.

The girl climbed from beneath the table she'd taken shelter under, trembling on nervous knees. She didn't seem to know whether to run away screaming or hug Jason as she looked up at him. He planted his hands on his hips, trying his best to assure he was harmless with a wink and a small smile. His stomach chose that exact moment to roar.

In the pin drop silence it was unmistakable that it was coming from him, and the girl clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh. At the back of the pub, a rough looking man with a gruff voice and crooked nose piped up.

“Mae, put the boy's meal on my tab! Good show giving those bastards a thumping. Any man with the stones to defy Cobblepot is good in my book.”

“Thank you, kindly.” Jason bowed with flourish to the girl who couldn't stop the toothy smile she flashed at him. She was missing a few of her back teeth either from her age or from someone like Fatback knocking her around.

Some of the barmaids cleaned up the tavern while the stronghands began to toss the fallen out into the alley with the trash. Jason helped right the tables and chairs that had survived the brawl, hanging his head when tMae came up and tugged him to sit down closer to the bar like a little boy.

“Eat hardy.” She slapped his shoulder, dropping a wooden plate with what looked to be a meat pasty in front of him. He didn't argue with her, thanking her quietly before sinking his teeth into the soft crust. Salty, spiced and a little sweet was the meat that greeted his tongue, along with the smoot filling of potatoes and carrots. A quiet moan escaped him as he chewed.

“Whoever made this needs to get over here so I can kiss them.” He declared, taking a larger bite that nearly decimated half the meat pie. Mae cackled, pointing to a burly man that was tussling with more meat pies by a large oven.

“That'd be Bert, then!” She cheered as Jason coughed through his swallow. The man paying his tab slid a tankard of beer to him, watching him drink it down in steady gulps.

Able to breathe again, Jason wiped the foam from his lips on his coat sleeve. His benefactor had sidled up closer to him, leaning against the edge of the bar. He was staying out of arms reach Jason noticed but looked perfectly at ease in the slouching posture of an old tired man.

“Thanks.” He said, resting his elbow on the table as he drained the rest of his beer.

“You're welcome, young man.” He looked like a sailor from the cut of his dark navy coat and the shape of his boots. Probably a shiphand from the way his hands were calloused--

Jason made a show of setting down his pewter mug and thanked Mae for her hospitality. He bid the serving girl goodbye, who informed him her name was Lucy and wished him a good day. By the way her hands wrung her apron, he knew she was hopeful he'd come back.

As quick as he'd come he left the tavern heading for the big cathedral that loomed south. He turned down a side alley once he'd gotten far enough away, faded into the shadows and scaled the rough stone walls straight up. His helmet came out of the bag to pull quickly over his head, tapping it's functions through to various readouts. He was almost too slow, jumping to the next roof as the old seaman popped up from the edge of the roof, reaching for his ankle. Jason landed on the next roof and didn't look back, hearing the familiar whistle of a grapple.

Instead of heading straight ahead to the next building he cut left sharply, leaping to different rooftop, tiles flying free beneath his boots. He heard the man shout at him and he laughed loud and free, barreling across the rooftops with ease.

“Can't catch me, I'm the Red Hooded Man!” He taunted, the voice modulator unable to convey the absolute boundless level of snark he wished to impart. Something caught his thigh, pain lighting a line up the inner skin there and on instinct he twisted on his next leap, slicing the grapple line clean with his kris blade. The grapple was small and pointed with several barbs sticking out down the sides of it. It clattered off him as he landed. His landing was definitely rougher this time, tumbling ass over head. He didn't stop, just sprung up again to pound rooftop after rooftop to get more distance between himself and the Bat.

Five rooftops later he was slowing down, vision blurring.

Eight rooftops later he staggered on his landing, tilting backwards. He pitched off the roof's edge, barely registering the surprised yelling of people below. Gravity took him until suddenly it just didn't. A harsh impact came into him from the side and then he was flying up through the air into the city's sky at dusk.

Somehow he found himself on a rooftop again, his pursuer now his warden. He sagged in the firm grip holding him, legs no longer able to support his own weight. As his vision spun, he wished he hadn't put the helmet on. He wanted to spit in the stoic, shadowed face looking down at him.

 _“Fuck you, Bruce.”_ He seethed in a pathetic hiss, slumping completely in the clutching hold the Bat had beneath his armpits. Out cold, Jason missed out on his victory of seeing the shock spark in ice-blue eyes before it cooled into grim acceptance.

 

 

When Jason woke he was stark naked save a modest drape of linen cloth. His hands and ankles were strapped to the bed he was in, too tight for him to dislocate a thumb and free himself from. He tested the restraints anyway and cursed when they creaked but did not budge. A few more straps had been placed across his chest and waist, pinning him so thoroughly he could not lift himself a centimeter from the bed either. His leg was bandaged, and the top of the wrap was still clean so the cut from the grapple hadn't been too deep. It was a minor sting, more of an annoyance than a hindrance. Unlike his restraints which he tested again.

He was in the cave again, this time with company. The Bat was there, looming in a nearby shadow.

“Let me go, you fucking bastard!” He growled, throttling his arms without much luck. “The fuck gives you the right to lock me up??!”

“ _You stole from me._ ” The Bat reminded him as he stepped closer, a cowl pulled protectively over his face. The suit was nothing like his Batman's. Over the years Bruce had streamlined the design to resemble a shadow. Only his yellow utility belt had remained mostly unchanged. Where minimalism had dictated his Batman, finely tuned detailed seemed to be the rule to this one.

Batman was wearing what looked to be a long leather overcoat with a high collar beneath his ink colored cape, which reminded Jason strangely of Ra's Al Ghul. A bronze emblem of a bat rested against the man's heart, glinting in the flickering candlelight. The belt was thick and snug against the man's trimmed waist, pouches laden with accouterments. His cowl was far more flexible than his Batman's, the natural leather thin enough to flex with the man's furrowed brows. There were no lenses to the mask but a pair of goggles hung from his neck. Jason stopped struggling when he realized that he could see the man's eyes when he stepped closer into the light.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Bruce's gaze without the barrier of their masks between them. He swallowed despite himself, uncomfortable and a little bit panicked now. Batman reached up, one hand pushing back his cowl completely. 

_Young,_ his brain supplied helpfully. Jason's eyebrows flew up so fast they nearly snapped clear off his face. The Bruce he knew was older, past the prime of his life but in such good health he barely showed it. This Bruce? Jason willed himself to not gape.

He was still around his early twenties, without a single crevice or crowsfoot to be found on his aristocratic visage. Dark circles had not yet permanently etched beneath his eyes, leaving his gaze bright and sharp as he stared Jason down. 

There was also a nearly playful air to his presence that Jason hardly recognized. It made his stomach twist in a way that made him want to toss up his earlier meal. This Bruce didn't have the heavy weight of so much loss that his did, he realized.

“You stole from me, you know who I am and I know absolutely nothing about you. Of course I'm going to 'lock you up' until I'm satisfied with my investigation.” The Batman declared, one brow quirking. “Well. _Almost_ nothing. You carry a League's blade with you. You have been trained and you are willing to maim opponents. Perhaps even kill them. Yet you stepped in to help a young girl from being abused without hesitation. Curious.”

_Oh my god, is he...?_ Jason was stupefied.

“Th-That guy deserved it!” Jason stammered, weakly trying to get his hands free again. “It's none of your business who I am. I'm not part of the league, thank you very much! You want the bike back? Take it, I stashed it--”

“I've retrieved it already.” Batman's lips pulled up at the right corner, his stupid raven colored hair falling over his forehead in a perfectly romantic little swoop. Jason's brain short circuited.

Batman was flirting.

**With him.**

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I left this on a bit of a cliff hanger. BUT BATS AND HOOD HAVE OFFICIALLY MET NOW. Let the sexual tension and slow burn romance begin. :3c (This is gonna kill me just like you guys, I have never written slow burns before. How do????)
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you thought, it really helps motivate me!


	4. Chapter 4

_ No. This is NOT happening.  _ Jason tried to assure himself he was probably just delirious from the sedative. There was absolutely no way in hell that Batman was treating him like... like...

“You called yourself the Red Hooded Man.” His voice was smooth and warm like the decanter of scotch Jason loved to steal sips from during galas as a kid. “I would prefer to know your _real_ name, please.”

He snapped his mouth shut and quickly turned his face away, eyes wide. Bruce rarely used that tone which made the moments he had all the more memorable for Jason during his stint as Robin. If only because he'd have given anything to have it directed at him.

Memories of running over rooftops to chase Batman's cape as the man chased a cat's tail were bittersweet in the back of his mind. Those nights had ended in Jason being sent away and he'd always ended up crying alone, wallowing in self pity. All he could do was bite down on his pillow in frustration, holding onto hope when he hadn't a chance in hell.

This Bruce with his dumb fucking face and perfectly styled hair despite being tucked under a cowl and his big, warm, strong hand touching his--

He yelped as Batman turned his face back towards him, firmly cupping the curve of his cheek. The callouses were well defined from mastering various weapons and martial arts no doubt. The grip he had on his jaw was firm, a pound of pressure away from actually bruising his skin. He was restraining himself, though Jason couldn't fathom why. His Bruce had never been so careless.

“Well?” Batman prompted him.

Jason made the mistake of meeting the man's eyes and became hysterically aware of the fact he was wearing nothing but a drape. He knew the moment he blushed, not by the warmth in his cheeks but because Batman's lips tilted into the faintest of smirks.

“I suppose I shall have to assume your name is really Red.”

“Fuck you!” Jason snapped, wishing he could bite the man's nose off just to spite him. The language seemed to startle the man, who finally seemed to stop being so smug and now was annoyed.

“Language.” He chided.

“Oh pardon me, _milord_ , I'd curtsy but I'm a little indisposed at the moment.” Jason shot back, a satire of highborn accent. He bared his teeth in an angry snarl. “Like I'm gonna tell my name to some pervert who knocked me out with God knows what, stripped me naked and tied me to a bed.”

That made the man tense up, fingers loosening their grip on Jason's jaw. Batman had the decency to look apologetic. Jason's eyes narrowed before he pulled his face back away from his touch.

“If I promise to not punch you, will you untie me and give me back my clothes?”

Bruce pressed his lips together and Jason pointedly ignored how much fuller they were in the blossom of his youth. He had much more color to his skin than his Bruce did, though the lamp light may have had a hand in it. He could scarcely remember his Bruce in warm or natural lighting. Rather than just alabaster pale like Tim, Bruce had always seemed gray and washed out. This Bruce was ruddy and alive in a way Jason had never seen in his own.

_He was never_ _**my Bruce.** _ Jason thought to himself, sadly.

“I do apologize for undressing you.” Bruce said quietly, and Jason snapped out of his reverie. “However I could not take chances, your garments and weapons were...”

“Advanced?” Jason asked.

“Different.” Bruce corrected.

“I'd like my pants back. Now.” He was quickly getting over his embarrassment and hurtling towards angry. The sooner he had more layers between himself and this awkward walking wet dream the better. “Also let me up.”

“I will provide clothing, but your clothes and weapons will stay where I have stored them for the time being. I still don't know anything about you and I am not about to let you wander free to cause trouble.”

“I wasn't causing trouble!” Jason grumbled.

“You call that bar fight staying on the side of the angels?” Bruce sounded incredulous.

“That asshat had it coming.”

“Ass _hat_??” Bruce's brows rose, bewilderment blooming over his face. Then he was laughing loud and booming. The cavern above them stirred, bats restlessly shifting from the sudden noise.

Jason was no stranger to loss. He had grown accustomed to being alone after the transgressions he'd committed, resigned to never being allowed into the fold again. There was no regret in him for those he'd killed and he would do it all over again given a second chance. Hearing that laugh again hurt because there were no second chances here. The moment this Bruce knew what he was and what he'd done, there would never be another smile so much as spared his way. He grimaced, chest aching despite his best efforts to ignore the heartache.

The mirth bled from Batman after a few moments and he reached out, his gloved fingers brushing against the straps over his chest.

“I am sorry, are you feeling ill?” He asked, concern knitting his brow. “You look unwell.” He was already unbuckling him, and the pressure eased. Tempting as it was to buck up and fight against the restraints on his wrists and ankles, Jason remained still, remembering his lack of dress.

“I'm fine.” He sighed. The man seemed to believe him on both accounts, untying his ankles and then his wrists. Jason sat up, rubbing absently at his chafed wrists.

“Allow me a moment.” Bruce stepped back, vanishing into the shadows beyond the lamplight. Jason could not see him, but he tracked his movements by sound instead. It also helped that he knew whereabouts the general changing area was. The man returned after a few heartbeats, fresh garments draped over his arm. Jason took them carefully, hesitant to touch such finery even more so than the suits he'd been given to wear as a child.

There were also more articles of clothing than he knew what to do with. Watching Pride and Predjudice meant he was familiar with how it was supposed to look, but he had no idea how to _put it all on_. Grinding his teeth, he yanked the white linen shirt over his head and began to searching through the ever rumpled pile of clothes for something resembling underwear. He found nothing but girly black stockings and a pair of matching ebony hued britches. The fly opened like a backwards pair of long johns, and Jason estimated they were only long enough to reach just past his knee. He couldn't help but feel ridiculous.

“Are they not to your liking?” Bruce watched him, face carefully neutral. Jason realized he was being rude but decided he didn't care that much. He'd been drugged, stripped and tied up against his will. Plus he was stuck in some strange place or time and he had no idea how he was going to get home. He scowled as he pulled the stockings over his feet and then the pants. He struggled with buttoning the pants

“It's just not what I'm use to.” He explained. “How the hell--!” He let out a noise of frustration as one stocking slipped down to his ankle. The pants were bulging from his clumsy attempt to tuck his shirt in and it looked worse when he tried to bend and fix the stocking. “Oh my hell, how do you put this shit on?” He asked helplessly as he stood back up.

Bruce's hands took him by the hips turning him around with ease. Jason froze, breath dying in his throat as his pants were removed with deft fingers flicking the buttons from their clasps. Behind him he could feel the other man's warmth as he knelt. Bruce took the stockings back up and tied each with a strip of ribbon to hold them in place just below Jason's knee. Then Batman was standing again, pulling the pants back up over Jason's hips.

Jason exhaled as the man's hand slid beneath the waistband, tucking his shirt all the way round with practiced ease. When Bruce's hand slid one last final time over the front of his belly and down to the carved curve of his pubic bone Jason thought he would never be able to breathe again. Then it was over, and Jason was left to button his own fly shut.

Jason couldn't look back at the man when he stepped away, too afraid of what he might have looked like to the other man. He closed his eyes and willed himself to steady his heartbeat. He had more important things to do than open the pandora's box that was his heart. Like finding out what exactly happened to him, where he was and how to get home. When he felt he could speak again without his voice cracking like a prepubescent boy, he faced his captor.

“My name is Jason Todd.” He offered. “I can't tell you anything more than that, but I'm not... not an enemy.”

“Well Mr. Todd, I am Wayne, Bruce Wayne. But you likely knew that, since you invaded my home.” Bruce's eyes were dancing in the soft flickering glow of the oil lamp.

“Hn.” Jason snorted, shifting awkwardly. He needed to leave. Plucking at the frills at the shirt's neckline he was glad he would at least blend in better with the locals now. He nearly jumped when he felt weight settle over his neck. The soft caress of velvet against his cheek when he looked down relaxed him. Bruce looked amused, stepping away again from laying the overcoat on his broad shoulders. Jason grumbled, pulling it on to complete the outfit. The neck was high, but he couldn't complain since the fabric felt so nice. Fingering the lapel, he sighed.

“Thank you. But I really do need my other clothes and stuff back too. I can't leave them.”

“You are leaving?” Bruce was actually asking and Jason couldn't believe his ears. He folded his arms and nodded slowly.

“I've got a case that I've got to figure it out... And you said it yourself, my stuff is different. I can't just let it get nabbed out of your mancave with obviously lax security.” He gestured vaguely by jerking his head in the direction of the cave entrance.

“I assure you my security is not insufficient.” Bruce fixed his gaze on him, appraising. “You were either extremely lucky, or you really are with the League. I've never had anyone get in here without my approval, not even Kal-El.”

“I'm not--Wait... Superman??”

“Super...who?” Bruce was clearly unfamiliar with the term.

“He's... uh... Nevermind, so Kal-El, huh? What's he like?” Jason was internally cursing his very luck. Of course there was a Superman here too. With the rate this was going, there was probably an entire Justice League.

“He is in all the newsletters.” Bruce shrugged, heading away from the cloying corner at last. Jason had no choice but to follow him, hesitating when they reached the staircase to the manor. He would rather have left the cave the way he came in, skipping out on the guilt and torment that came with Wayne Manor. Bruce was already ascending and by the set of his shoulders it was heavily implied Jason was expected to follow.

“ _Newsletters_.” Jason muttered, taking the first step upwards.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so short and crappy I am sorry guys. I feel like I let you all down, but I just can't seem to get on track with this story. ._. Which is super frustrating for me and probably disappointing for all of you. I wish I had someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of. When it's just me and the echo chamber that is my mind it just gets all jumbled and stalls out on me... Also I have no beta reader so I die like a man, unbeta'ed. 
> 
> I'm not abandoning this story, but I may have to take a small break on the next chapter, maybe dip my toes into another story I'm working on instead to refresh my brain a bit. ORZ


End file.
